


Search And Rescue

by Tender Blade (Dagger_Stiletto)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Attention-starved, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Makkachin is the Hero, Makkachin to the rescue, Miscommunication, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Self-Esteem Issues, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dagger_Stiletto/pseuds/Tender%20Blade
Summary: Moving to St. Petersburg was a huge adjustment, and on some levels, Yuuri is still making efforts to do just that. He feels like a lone fish swimming in circles outside the school, but he's trying.





	Search And Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I conveyed Yuuri's anxiety and issues well enough. It's hard to put into words what this would feel like, even though I suffer from similar problems. My anxiety is situational rather than social, but a lot of the emotions and reactions are the same. Still I hope I did Yuuri justice.
> 
> This work was beta-ed by the lovely [dvoiddubs](http://dvoiddubs.tumblr.com/)! Go visit their blog~
> 
> If you would like to join in my sinning, visit my [tumblr](http://daggerstiletto.tumblr.com/)~!

_Moving to St. Petersburg was a huge adjustment,_ and on some levels, Yuuri is still making efforts to do just that. He doesn't speak the language, he can't read the signs, and he misses his family more often than not. He has no friends here outside of Yurio, Viktor, and Makkachin. He gets along with his rinkmates well enough, but he doesn't know them enough to feel connected. He feels even more distanced from them when they speak Russian in front of him, effectively cutting him out of any conversation and deepening that feeling of loneliness. 

He and Viktor easily fall into a domestic routine in the Russian's apartment, mostly because of how they'd been living together months prior at the onsen and rooming together at the hotels they stayed in for the competitions. It's not perfect by any means, and they have a few rough spots. Viktor isn't at all accustomed to living with someone full-time, and some of his messy habits drive the neat and tidy Japanese man up the wall. Some of their squabbles are over truly stupid things, like how Viktor is convinced Makkachin likes Yuuri better than him now, to which Yuuri isn't even sure how to respond.

Viktor promised in the beginning to show him around St. Petersburg, his new home, but so far, two months in, all Yuuri knows how to get to is the grocery store, the dog park, Lilia's ballet studio, and the skating rink. He thinks the man forgot the promise, and he tries not to feel disappointed.

He's learning Russian in his spare time, what little of that there is, so that he'll be able to communicate with his rinkmates, or at least be able to tell when they're talking about him. He can hear his name, but the he also doesn't know if they're referring to him or his Russian namesake. It's nerve-racking and jacks up his anxiety more than he thought possible, makes him jerk his head towards whomever said his name and then flinch in worry that they would become irritated that he responded at all.

After a month, Yuuri also realizes that he feels a little neglected on the ice. Viktor, despite claiming publicly to want to coach and compete dually, focuses on himself when in the rink, seeming to lose all sense of anything but what he needs for himself to make his comeback. Yuuri feels guilty about being upset over it, which only makes it worse. He keeps to himself on the ice, too shy to engage anyone else that doesn't approach him first, which limits his contact to Yakov, Yuri, and sometimes Viktor, but he doesn't want to risk getting Yakov mad or distract from Viktor's training by asking for assistance. Yuri most likely would just yell at him, which would get them nowhere.

He gets yelled at for trying jumps without Viktor's supervision, but no one is watching him otherwise. He feels like a lone fish swimming in circles outside the school, and in those moments, he wants to go home to Japan.

He turns to the ballet studio when the ice isn't welcoming, and at least here, he has some one-on-one at least some of the time. Sometimes he requests a private room so he can Skype Minako-sense, who would devote all the time he requests, no matter the time of day. When his family catch onto it, they sometimes sit in on the call to encourage Yuuri. For sure, his choreography would be strong this year. Maybe he'll even design his own performance. All he has to do is make sure that he translates it to the ice well enough. Ballet slippers are in no way akin to ice skates.

The only thing he can say about being left to his own devices 85% of the time is that he is learning to be more self-sufficient. The rest of it, though, after having undivided attention for months, really sucks.

That connection he used to have with Viktor, the thing that had filled him with such joy and confidence and shut out the voices of his self-doubts and overactive brain, is fading. It's but a glimmer, a flame being starved of oxygen.

He can't remember the last time they've hugged. He can't remember the last time he woke in the middle of the night to feel their fingers linked warmly, their arms tugged behind themselves and between their bodies as they face opposite sides but still remain linked. Their conversations are lackluster at best. There's a vast divide he can't even begin to cross, and he doesn't know how that dreaded chasm opened between them in the first place.

They wake in the morning, eat breakfast in silence. Sometimes Yuuri jogs to the rink a few minutes ahead of Viktor, sometimes they jog together. They practice on separate sides of the rink. They sometimes eat lunch together. Yuuri heads home before Viktor so he can have dinner ready. They eat. They shower separately. They fall asleep.

Rinse and repeat.

Yuuri wants to say something. A normal person would speak up, right? They'd tell Viktor that they feel pushed aside and need a little more than they're getting. He's pretty sure Viktor isn't meaning to shut him out, but those insecurities he harbors--the ones that whisper he deserves it, that he's being a big baby about this, not everything is about you Yuuri, he shouldn't try to pull Viktor from his training, it's important, what's wrong with you, why are you so needy, you're not that important, _you're so selfish Yuuri..._

So yeah. He stays silent. Viktor is happy. He's back on the ice and smiling bright and laughing loud. That should be enough.

Except that it's not, and of all people, Yuri Plisetsky is the one to make a big deal out of Yuuri doing mindless steps and figures on the ice, almost three months into his stay at St. Petersburg.

"Hey, katsudon, when are you gonna do something worthwhile instead of this boring shit?" Yuri demands, arms crossed as he leans against the edge of the rink, blue-green eyes narrowed on the dejected Japanese man.

"Viktor doesn't like me doing jumps without him watching," he replies easily, running a step sequence he'd done in the ballet studio Minako-sensei had demanded he incorporate into a performance. Yuri makes a sound of interest when he sees it but continues with his interrogation.

"You haven't done any jumps in weeks! How the hell do you expect to be worth my time in competition without a single jump? Fancy foot work only gets you so far, piggy."

"Viktor is busy training," he defends with a shrug, hoping the subject of their conversation doesn't hear. Unlikely when he's on the other side of the rink, not paying attention to anything but his own leaps and leg work, and laughing at Yakov's yelling. "I don't want to distract him."

"Viktor _should_  be distracted by his own goddamn student," Yuri snarls. "He's neglecting the one he claimed he wanted to train and compete against. This is not how you do either of those things. Fucking moron." With that, he stomps--quite a feat on the ice--over to where Viktor is spinning almost wildly.

Yuuri takes this as his cue to leave for the day. It's 2pm. He's been here since 7. He wants to go to the ballet studio for a bit before calling it a day. He'll stop by home first to take Makkachin for a walk.

He wastes no time in packing his skating gear and popping his earbuds in, music app on shuffle. He can hear Russian shouting from the rink, most likely a mix of Yakov and Yuri, before he shuts out the world. He jogs as he lets his mind go numb, taking the memorized route from rink to home. He doesn't need signs to get where he's going, and he only knows a third of the words anyway.

Makkachin is happy to see him as she always is. Ever the good companion, she follows along or right beside him without a leash, never straying more than a meter at a time. Neighbors who recognize her greet and pat her, even sneaking a biscuit or treat to her that Yuuri pretends he doesn't see, but Makkachin always returns to his side with a happy doggy smile on her expressive face. He smiles and keeps his hand in her fur to ground himself as they explore the streets to the dog park. he plays with her there for an hour, getting her a good bit of exercise and activity so she won't feel neglected. When they arrive back home, Viktor is not there. It is 4pm. He tucks Makkachin back inside with a farewell pat and grabs his ballet flats and laptop bag, walking this time to conserve energy.

As long as he keeps moving and keeps the music in his ears blaring out the world around, he can escape the bad feelings and drown out the awful thoughts that dog his every breath.

He can forget that he's miserable and lonely and that all he would really like to do is lay in bed curled around his fiancé, fingers linked and ear pressed to his heartbeat.

It's 10:30am in Japan when he places the Skype call to Minako-sensei. He's doing stretches when she answers, even though he's been in constant motion since 6am when he'd awoken to shower before Viktor awoke himself. His mother is there with Minako-sensei this time, and he talks to her while he stretches, taking comfort from her gentle nature and calming voice, feeling warmth spread through him as she demands to know if he and Viktor are eating properly and getting enough rest.

He tells her yes to the first and fibs to the last. He never sleeps well when his anxiety is so high, feeding him untruths, but he's good at hiding it.

It's not affecting his training, or lack thereof, so he's fine.

He's _fine._

He should have known not to get used to the quiet in his head. The universe conspires against him, and he feels uneasy when  he enters the apartment he shares with Viktor at half-past seven. Viktor is home, as evidenced by the sloppy disarray of haphazard shoes, which he automatically straightens after shucking his own. He hangs up his coat, sets down his bag, slips on his house slippers, and hugs and pats Makkachin when she bounds forth to greet him, just as happy to see him as she had been three hours ago.

He rises from his crouched position to find Viktor leaning against he back of the sofa with an unreadable expression. No cheerful welcome home, no hug and kiss to the cheek, not even a smile. Dread licks the back of his neck with cold flames.

" _Tadaima_ ," he murmurs for lack of anything else to say, nervous, stomach rioting with bees.

" _Okaerinisai_ ," Viktor replies, accent flawed but not awful due to practice--a habit he and Yuuri had gotten into to try and help each other learn the two languages their partner had been born to--though his tone lacked any discernible emotion. It makes Yuuri want to put his sneakers back on and go back outside. Be anywhere but here. 

"Is anything wrong?" he asks after a tense moment of silence. Even Makkachin seems confused, looking between her favorite humans in concern.

"Where were you, Yuuri? I didn't see you at practice today," Viktor says, and it's like a punch to the gut.

He feels almost winded. "I was there, Vitya," he says, voice quiet. "I was there from 7 to 2. You came in after me. You were busy. I decided to let Makkachin out for a bit before I went to Lilia's." Viktor doesn't even remember seeing him at practice, and it feels like coals sitting heavy in his abdomen instead of angry bees.

"I don't remember discussing that part of your training regimen," Viktor remarks tightly, and Yuuri frowns.

"We haven't discussed much of anything, let alone my training regimen," he responds, voice sharper than he thinks he's heard it before. He's starting to feel flames of anger sparking from those painful coals. "In fact, the last time you took notice of me on the ice was when I tried to practice a triple lutz, in front of half a dozen skaters, and you yelled at me for not having 'supervision.' Lilia and Minako-sensei have been very accommodating in allowing me to at least practice choreography. I was waiting for you to get comfortable with your own routine again so I could show you want I've been working on."

"If you were waiting as you say, why did I get accosted by your new friend Yurio for ignoring you?" Viktor demands, his face finally creasing with emotions, which is less disconcerting than the impassivity, even if it is anger.

The anger bursts in him with surprising intensity. He rarely gets angry, rarely lets things push him to that place where his fists clench and his breath comes in fast from between tightly teeth. Where the ugliness inside him morphs into something sharp and threatens to consume him and attack those he loves most. "I don't know what angers me more," he seethes, watching the twitch of surprise on his fiancé's face. "You seeming upset that I even have a friend outside of you, or that you're angry at me about someone else's actions. Or maybe it's how you haven't made a single effort to actually make good on any of your promises!"

"I have never broken a promise to you," Viktor defends immediately, offended.

"Not broken, no, but you certainly haven't fulfilled any of the ones you've made since arriving here," Yuuri snaps. "You haven't helped me learn your language, you haven't shown me anything in the place you want me to call home. You've devoted less than three hours to actually training me, and you don't even talk to me!"

"You haven't exactly been Chatty Cathy yourself, Yuuri," Viktor returns. "How am I supposed to know anything if you refuse to talk to me. I can't read minds. You can't pin all of this on me, Yuuri!"

Yuuri clenches his fists. For the first time, he actually wants to punch something. He wants to scream with his frustration. Viktor is almost willfully ignoring the important things here. On some level, he knew Viktor would try to push off the blame onto Yuuri. Everyone did. Yuuri is always the bad guy.

"I am perfectly aware of my flaws, Viktor," he snarls. "I'm too quiet, too flawed, not at all worthy of your time. I held onto that stupid little hope that you would be different, Viktor. I tried to be understand and let you find your place on the ice again. I try to be there for you in every way possible. I moved across the world to be with you! Instead of being there for me, you've focused only on yourself, and then have the audacity to get mad when someone else points it out!"

"I can't control what others do in my defense," he huffs, heedless of the tears he doesn't remember even feeling at his eyes. "You should be happy I even have a friend! But you're mad instead because he called you out on your bullshit, which I wasn't even around for! I went to train with someone who hasn't yelled at me for the past two months." He drags his hands thorugh his hair in frustration. His ring snags on his tangled locks, and he tugs viciously.

He resists the urge to take the gold band off and fling it.

Viktor curses in Russian, shouting loud enough that Makka startles. Yuuri doesn't know what the other has just said, but he shouts back in Japanese, angrier than he ever remembers being in his life. He feels the situation spiral. Later, he won't even remember what he said. He sure as hell doesn't know what string of Russian expletives Viktor is uttering, nor does he want to know, judging by the look on the blond's twisted features.

They're both yelling now, arms gesturing wildly. Their words are a mix of English and their native languages. These aren't the words between lovers. They're meant to wound and lash out, to strike where it hurts most because they're hurting more than they had let the other know. 

Viktor is furious that Yuuri keeps secrets, doesn't man up and talk to him rather than allow others to do all the talking. Yuuri hates that he has to do all the giving with very little receiving--what the hell did _Viktor_  have to give up for them to be together?--that he is automatically in the wrong, that Viktor doesn't even seem interested in him anymore now that he has him where he wants him. Viktor rages that Yuuri plays the victim, that he makes a mountain out of a molehill, he should just let things _go_. Yuuri screams that he _is_  the victim when he's the one that's been suffering in silence because he thought Viktor was happy and would eventually remember that he has a fiancé. Viktor accuses Yuuri of being disrespectful and unable to give a man some peace and quiet--"You just complained that I don't talk to you, Viktor!"--in his own home after working so hard to make a comeback in the ice, something he's doing _for_ Yuuri, how can Yuuri stand to be so _selfish_?!

And that, Yuuri thinks, is the last barb he can withstand. One of his worst worries, something that keeps him up at night, something he works so hard not to be, spoken out loud by the man he loves more than life itself.

He turns on his heel and runs from the house, door banging off the wall and slamming shut behind him as he runs out into the night and shuts out the rest of the world.

~*~~*~*~*~~*~

_Originally, Viktor had only intended on letting Yuuri_ cool down, sure that once he had, he'd come back home and they could sit down and reconcile and talk more calmly. It scared him a little; Yuuri had never expressed such anger or bitterness before, but then Viktor had never reacted to him that way either. He'd said things he definitely didn't mean. He'd said them mostly because he knew they'd hurt, and at that horrible moment, he'd needed to win, to knock his opponent--at that moment not his fiancé, not someone he loved, but someone he was battling against--down to his knees.

A clear head brings regret, and he hates how he'd just treated his fiancé, the only man who has brightened his life so completely that he's ruined for any other, the only man who deals with his high-maintenance personality, petty moods, and cleans up after him with hardly a complaint. The same clear head brings him to the realization that he's not truly mad at Yuuri. No, it's more he's angry with himself for missing all these important things, for forgetting them, and then they had to be pointed out to him by Yurio, of all people.

His brain didn't know how to handle it, and so he lashed out on the one closest to him.

He starts on dinner, a rarity what with Yuuri taking over house husband duties. He listlessly putters around the pristine apartment, everything in its place and easily accessible, immaculately clean while still feeling homey. Despite the lack of Yuuri-oriented decor, the Japanese man has definitely made his mark here, integrated his presence here, as though he'd always been there.

It makes Viktor's heart flutter with joy, but now, in the aftermath of their screaming match, it makes the very same heart drop into his stomach.

It's 9pm before Viktor realizes Yuuri isn't coming home on his own. He grabs his phone while Makkachin whines mournfully at the door. He shoots off a text-- _I'm sorry, zolotse, please come home so we can make up_ \--only to nearly give himself whiplash jerking around when he hears his fiancé's text tone chime gleefully from his laptop bag.

Yuuri is in an unfamiliar city without his phone, a coat, or even his shoes! He'd run out in his house slippers, for Christ's sake!

Viktor grabs his overcoat and steps into his running shoes as his heart hammers with worry. He shouldn't have waited so long! He double checks to make sure the oven is off and leaves the house, taking Makkachin with him. He checks the limited places he knows Yuuri is familiar with. He's in none of them, and no one saw him at the grocery store since his last shopping trip. 

He calls Yakov, Yurio, and Lilia. They haven't seen him since practice, and Yurio yells out at him about being the biggest dumbass he's ever known before Viktor hangs up on him. Yakov's phonecall mostly had consisted of death threats against him for losing one of the best students he'd seen in his long career as coach.

By this time, Viktor is fighting panic, swallowing the lump his too-tight throat. He's a _horrible_  fiancé. How could he let Yuuri run blind? What if he was hurt? What if something horrible had happened to him?

What if he caught a taxi to the airport? To catch the next flight back to Japan.

He hopes that's not it, even though he certainly deserves it after how abysmally he's treated Yuuri since arriving in his home country.

He vows to do better once he finds Yuuri. He's determined to bring the young man home, to their home, the one he wants to share with Yuuri for the rest of their lives.

_I should have told him that_ , he laments.

They circle back around towards the dog park. He calls for Yuuri, feeling silly but also not caring, thinking if he keeps his eyes open wide that he'll be able to see his lover sooner. The few people who were out at this time of night look at him oddly, making sure to keep a small distance from him, but he ignores them. At the dog park, where Makkachin puts her nose to the ground and starts meandering around, the Russian skater pauses to breathe, looking in all different directions hopelessly. 

Viktor checks his phone; no new calls or messages. He shoots off another text-- _Yuuri, are you home? Please answer me. I'm looking for you. I hope you're safe!_ \--he doesn't hold out much hope for a reply, but he does it just in case, by some miracle, Yuuri somehow makes it home without him.

When he looks up, Makkachin has gotten quite a bit away, and he calls after her. She stops and lifts her head, barking at him, but she doesn't come back. Viktor frowns and tries again, putting his phone in his pocket, but she remains pointed in a different direction, looking at him expectantly. Viktor goes over and tries to tug on her collar to get her to come with him, but she moves away right before he can touch her, stopping and barking until he gets close enough again. After a second go, Viktor realizes she's trying to lead him away. 

"Makkachin, where are you taking me?" Viktor demands, irritated. He tries to pick up his pace to make a grab for her. "We don't have time for this. We have to find Yuuri."

At her other human's name, Makkachin barks and jumps in place, tail wagging, then puts her nose to the ground, scurrying in that same direction. She doesn't wait for him this time, apparently on a mission, and Viktor can only follow because he can't lose his fiancé and his dog in the same night. Makkachin crosses the empty street, and it suddenly occurs that she's following a scent. He remembers back to the little book his nanny had gotten him when his mostly-absent parents had purchased him a poodle puppy to shut him up about wanting a pet. Poodles are often used in search and rescue, and though Makkachin has never been officially trained, she's obviously picked up on their outing not being an exceptionally long walk, combined with her owner's distress and repeated use of Yuuri's name.

"Good girl, Makka," he gasps, jogging to keep up with the determined canine. "Find Yuuri, Makka. We've gotta get him and bring him home."

Makkachin barks but doesn't lift her nose from the ground. She's as focused on her task as he's ever seen her, determined to bring her anxious human home so she can cuddle on both of her worshipers and get even more belly rubs for finding him.

Viktor sees that they are in a part of the city poor Yuuri definitely has never been to, especially this far out. The nervous Japanese man is most likely completely lost and cold, too scared and shy to ask someone for help or to use a phone, and the language barrier would most likely prevent him from being able to do so even if he managed to pluck up enough courage/desperation to approach or speak to a stranger. By now, the temperature has dropped significantly, and Russia is colder than any place Yuuri has been before. He gets cold quick, bundling in sweats and heavy socks when Viktor is wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and light lounge pants, barefoot.

The blond is doubly glad he had chosen an apartment with heated floors. He'll definitely need to pamper Yuuri after this horrific experience.

Makkachin's excited barking drags Viktor out of his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to see her dashing across the street to a sheltered bus stop. He sprinted after her, seeing a dark-clothed lump huddling on the bench. The closer he gets, the more Yuuri-esque the lump becomes, and he can see the trembling. Yuuri is curled with his arms around his legs, knees tucked under his chin. His light track suit is doing nothing against the cold, having dropped to -6°C in this early April night, leagues colder than any April night in Japan. He's also missing his left house slipper, toes curled in his dirty sock, its white now a dark gray from his run through the dirty streets of St. Petersburg.

Makkachin is there first, whining and licking at Yuuri, a wriggling mass of excited curly fur, until the Japanese skater uncurls from his balled-up position. Once his knees are out of the way, she attacks his tear-tracked face with her tongue while Yuuri's fingers bury in her warm fur. His voice is tired and thready as he greets her and asks how she got there.

Viktor goes to his knees as soon as he's close enough, hands immediately going to Yuuri's head. "Yuuri, are you okay? I've been looking all over for you! Oh sweetheart, you're so cold!" He strips off his coat, almost hot from his elevated temperature from running all over town, and wraps it around his fiancé. Makkachin sprawls her warm body over his cold feet, whining with her own brand of concern.

"I got lost and c-couldn't read the s-signs to get back home," Yuuri stutters, teeth chattering, eyes wet as he turns his gaze on the blond. "I g-got too tired to walk anymore, so I th-thought I'd wait for the bus." He leans toward Viktor hesitantly, reaching out.

Viktor wastes no time in sitting on the bench beside Yuuri to hug his most precious person. He presses three or five kisses to his hair and the side of his face, sheltering his cold body against his beloved protectively. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I was lashing out, I didn't mean to hurt you. All I care about is getting you home and safe and pampering you until you're sick of me." He rubs his hands over his shivering body, hoping his own warmth is helping.

"I'm s-sorry, too, Vitya," Yuuri sniffles, shuddering as he tries to press his face close into Viktor's neck. The Russian ignores the shock of cold flesh that causes goosebumps to manifest all over his body. "I'm just so tired and frustrated." He seems to be trying to crawl inside Viktor, as if to hide from the world and warm himself simultaneously.

"Don't worry, _zolotse_ , we'll work it all out once we get home," he whispers, kissing Yuuri's cold, blue-tinged lips. "We have a lot to work out, and I know it won't be easy, but everything will be all right. I'm going to make up for all of the time I wasted. I love you so much, Yuuri, I'm just so glad I found you."

Yuuri, shivering and sniffling, kisses his jaw a few times before returning his face to Viktor's warm neck. "I love you too, Viktor, I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."  
"Now now, none of that, darling. We'll hold off on the unnecessary apologies until after we have you warm and bundled in bed." With a final kiss, Viktor takes out his phone and quickly hails a pet-friendly Uber. 

He needs to get Yuuri home so the little popsicle of a man can thaw out, and he can begin making everything up to him. He is fully aware that he is at least 70% at fault for their disagreement in the first place. He murmurs soft words of love strewn with apologetic kisses to his mostly-quiet lover, trying to get as much of his warm body in contact with Yuuri's chilled one. His eyes land on the foot missing a shoe peeking out from under Makkachin's body. He'll have to buy him new house slippers. Even if they find the other, it won't be much good after a few days in the outdoors.

The Uber arrives no more than six minutes after the order. It's almost midnight. Viktor scoops Yuuri up bridal style, ignoring the raven's protests. The Uber driver helpfully opens the door to let Makkachin in. Viktor helps Yuuri inside, sliding in after him. Makkachin sprawls across Yuuri, understanding that her Japanese daddy is too cold to be okay just yet. The Russian driver shows Viktor how to work the climate controls that are designed specifically for the backseat, and Viktor jacks up the heat. He makes yuuri stretch his feet out to the vent near the floor, knowing the faster one's feet get warm, the faster the rest of the body will follow.

"Is he okay?" the driver asks in Russian, phone propped for GPS so he can start driving to the set destination. 

"He's not used to Russian cold yet," Viktor replies. "Japan is no less than 20% warmer than us at all times." It's a bit of an exaggeration, but the driver laughs, and Viktor kisses Yuuri's hair when he makes an inquisitive noise, secure in the knowledge that the driver is focused on the road and the GPS and therefore not spying on any possible homosexual activity in his backseat.

The drive takes almost thirty minutes, and that's taking the shortest route. Viktor marvels at how far Yuuri had run in his anger-fueled flight, which had eventually tapered off into a tired trudge in hopes of getting home. Of course, the feeling of being impressed fades when he remembers how Yuuri could have been hurt of frozen or any number of horrible things. If it weren't for Makkachin, he'd never have found him, most likely. Not without help from the local police department, or at least all of his friends here in St. Petersburg getting in their cars and driving all over the town.

Wouldn't Yakov have just loved that?

The driver goes the extra mile to help open doors, including unlocking the apartment door so Viktor doesn't have to set his "friend" down to do so. Yuuri clings to his shoulders, resigned to being carried regardless of what he has to say on the matter. Later, Viktor will make sure to give his driver a five-star rating and a fifty percent tip. He will also be sure to text everyone he'd called earlier in the middle of his search and let them know he's found Yuuri. For now, his highest priority is getting Yuuri warm and comfortable, fed and in bed.

Luckily, he's already far better than when he and Makkachin had come across him. Viktor takes him straight to the bathroom, and he helps him strip down to nothing while the tub fills with steamy water. He strips as well; by now, almost a year into their relationship--even if the engagement has only been a few months--they're used to being in all states of undress around each other, even if Yuuri is still shy and blushes charmingly if he gets a good eyeful of Viktor's naked body. He leaves for only a moment to fetch a bottle of water for Yuuri to sip from while they wait for the tub to fill. 

The Russian helps the still-quiet Asian into the tub, slipping in behind him and tugging him to sit with his back to Viktor's broader chest, arms around his torso. Makkachin, unconcerned with her dads' nudity as any animal would be, lies on the floor close by so she can feel included.

For a few minutes, they merely bask in the hot water of the large tub that could easily fit another two or three people into--not that they ever would. Viktor soaks in the feel of Yuuri's wet skin, no longer chilled and pale, a healthy pink coloring his flesh as heat seeped into his core. Briefly, he reaches down over the side of the tub to grab his phone from under the pile of clothing Makkachin has decided to nest in for now, typing out a message in a group text to tell everyone all three of them are safe and sound at home and to not expect them at practice tomorrow. Yakov would likely yell at him about it, but he would deal with that later.

The blonde can't remember the last time he felt so close to his fiancé as he drops his phone back onto the floor and returns his arms to around Yuuri's torso. He thinks he can understand a little of how Yuuri must have felt. Yuuri always feels emotions five to ten times more intensely than Viktor at any given point, so if the Russian is feeling the effects of being a little isolated, he can only imagine just how touch-starved Yuuri must feel now. Add in the misfiring neurotransmitters of anxiety and an overactive imagination with a heaping helping of self-esteem issues, and it sounds like a personal version of Hell. Guilt and regret twists inside his stomach, like a writhing snake laced with venom and disappointment, gnawing at him as his own personal punishment system. He'll be beating himself up for this for a long time, he knows, and he'll deserve every second.

He strokes his fingers over Yuuri's body, grabbing bodywash to bathe both of them. Yuuri leans into his every touch, and Viktor hates himself a little more for neglecting the one he loves above everyone else. He presses a kiss to skin whenever he can, taking extra care with his darling's body, feeling the lean muscles and delightful curves that fill out spots Viktor would never have. Caresses over the barely-there stretchmarks and a few of the raised welts of scars from ice-skating injuries and untold stories of childhood.

He takes extra care of Yuuri's hair, scrubbing shampoo into the silken raven tresses twice, massaging the scalp soothingly, and then running a comb, which Makkachin fetches upon a quietly-spoken request, to smooth through the tangles while the conditioner sets for a few minutes. Every touch is tender and speaks of the love, affection, and utter adoration he holds for this beautiful, anxiety-ridden, talented man. Yuuri is boneless, quiet and relaxed but awake, in his embrace, and he leans his weight heavily against Viktor. He's like a sponge, trying to absorb every bit of Viktor's everything. Viktor peppers sweet kisses on his shoulders and neck. Then he rinses out the coconut-scented conditioner.

The older male helps the younger, who wobbles with fatigue, out of the tub. Makkachin helpfully drags towels to them without needing to be asked, and Viktor bends to drain the water. He carefully dries Yuuri, making sure he doesn't topple over while he briskly does the same to himself. He shuffles them both to the bedroom and dresses Yuuri in a pair of fluffy pajama bottoms with little Makkachin faces printed on them and one of Viktor's large, worn-out hoodies he knows Yuuri adores. He tugs only light lounge pants on himself. While Yuuri snuggles into the bed, Viktor retrieves the coconut-scented massage oil he'd purchased with Yuuri's aches and pains in mind.

Under Yuuri's quiet but expressive chocolate gaze, Viktor sits at the foot of the bed where he can reach Yuuri's feet, toes curled in slightly. They straighten as he takes one foot in his warm, oiled hands. Yuuri makes soft noises of contentment as the blonde lovingly rubs and strokes the pain from his tired and bruised feet, especially the left, which had gone without a shoe for who knows how long. He rolls the nakles, works the tension from his calves under the sleep pants, then returns to those slender, perfect feet, lavishing all the love he can't express in words through the press of his fingertips.

He stops only when he realizes Yuuri has fallen asleep under his gentle ministrations. Viktor leans over to kiss his lips lightly, bringing the comforter up to tuck him in while the Asian hugs the pillow that smells most of Viktor. Then he sets about cleaning the clothes from off the bathroom floor and retrieves their phones. He checks the locks and turns off the lights before he finally crawls into bed, spooning up behind Yuuri with their phones on silent on the nightstand. Makkachin hops up on the bed to curl in the space on the king-sized mattress that Viktor used to occupy alone. He wishes he could have gotten Yuuri to eat something before falling asleep, but he makes plans to get up before Yuuri to make breakfast for him first thing in the morning to make up for it.

He knows that nothing is okay right now. They still need to talk. Apologies need to be said, and their issues need ironed out. The truth needs to be laid bare so that they can improve on the good things and get rid of the bad things. He needs to make sure Yuuri feels loved, make sure that he knows that there is nothing on Earth that Viktor wouldn't do for him.

For right now, though, Viktor is content to hold Yuuri while he rests, much needed after such an awful and exhausting day. He knows it _will be_  okay. They are young and will work through it, and they'll be all the stronger for it. That thought makes him smile and follows him into the Land of Slumber, pressed against his one and only, his hand covering Yuuri's heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Dvoiddubs: "Yuuri is boneless"  
> Me: Hmm?  
> Me: He is  
> Me: Very flexible  
> Dvoiddubs: Ooooooohhh  
> Me: I'm joking  
> Me: I don't remember where that is  
> Dvoiddubs: Viktor and Yuuri are laying in the tub together, Yuuri's just laying there taking it all in, and then you write that he's boneless.  
> Me: Yeah. Boneless. Limp. Receptive. Not at all moving because he's tired and letting Viktor do all the work.  
> Dvoiddubs: Mmkay, just never heard it used that way before so I wondered.  
> Me: Yuuri's bones suddenly melted.  
> Dvoiddubs: They gone.  
> Me: It was a very hot bath.  
> Me: How will he skate!  
> Dvoiddubs: He'll flap around like a wind sock!  
> Me: Be like an octopus with skates. Flippy flop slap plop  
> Dvoiddubs: Slappin' all over the ice!  
> Me: Such beauty, such grace.  
> Me: The title should be octopus!Yuuri on ice!  
> Dvoiddubs: Yuuroctopus. YUURIMARI  
> Me: DO NOT EAT OCTOPUS!YUURI  
> Dvoiddubs: NOMNOMNOM
> 
> #saveoctopusyuuri2k18  
> (This is actually a very normal conversation for me)


End file.
